Your poem reminded me of a line from a book of Barthelme's describing a similar situation:

The instrument looked to Simon, who knew something of the weight and force of tools, capable of shattering the baby's head in an instant. After all these years, he thought, that's the best they can do?

(I'd ordinarily hesitate to recall such a startling image here but you mentioned "pliers" and "dung.")

Not to rain on your parade, but by producing a child, you're only adding to the already dire global warming crisis. As you may know, the average American produces a carbon footprint of approximately 10 tons per year. Assuming an average lifespan of 75 years, one can easily calculate. . . oh, WTF . . congratulations.

Tightly-folded bud,I have wished you somethingNone of the others would:Not the usual stuffAbout being beautiful,Or running off a springOf innocence and love -They will all wish you that,And should it prove possible,Well, you’re a lucky girl.

But if it shouldn’t, thenMay you be ordinary;Have, like other women,An average of talents:Not ugly, not good-looking,Nothing uncustomaryTo pull you off your balance,That, unworkable itself,Stops all the rest from working.In fact, may you be dull -If that is what a skilled,Vigilant, flexible,Unemphasised, enthralledCatching of happiness is called.

On a purely literary note, compliments to MM on "the devil's own/Black and sticky dung," surely not just a reference to poopy diapers, but also an allusion to the protagonist of Sartor Resartus (Herr Teufelsdroekh) - whose author Thomas Carlyle is commemorated in young Sibyl's middle name.

"Meconium: This is the black, sticky, almost tar like bowel movements your child takes in his first few days after birth. Your child swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid while in utero, the result is meconium. It can be difficult to wipe off your baby's bottom due to its sticky consistency but don't worry in a couple of days you'll be on to the next kind of poop."